


Unlit Love Letters

by roswyrm



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Cliche, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff without Plot, Hamid is clueless, I Will Go Down With This Ship, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Like, Love Letters, Love Poems, M/M, Miscommunication, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Probably ooc, Self-Indulgent, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, WAAAAAAAAY self indulgent, Zolf is (somehow) too subtle, absolutely disgusting to read it's so soppy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-16
Updated: 2018-10-16
Packaged: 2019-08-02 22:37:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16313936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roswyrm/pseuds/roswyrm
Summary: Hamid has a habit of writing out his feelings and then burning the paper they were written on. Zolf doesn't have a habit of snooping, but there's a damp, singed love letter in the sink, and he can't help but wonder. Or, I am nothing if not self-indulgent.





	Unlit Love Letters

**Author's Note:**

> By reading this, you confirm you are not Emma Hinotorihime, you are in no way affiliated to Emma Hinotorihime, you are not reading this item on behalf of Emma Hinotorihime or an associate of Emma Hinotorihime. To the best of your knowledge, information, and belief, this story will not make its way into the grubby little hands of Emma Hinotorihime, who does not deserve it. She knows what she did.

Love letters, especially in the form of poetry, are a celebrated art form in Hamid's family; it's one of the few traditions he actually took part in. Not always, of course. Sure, there were a few embarrassing bits of parchment he'd burned so as not to think about them later, but those were the exception, not the rule.

However. 

One of those embarrassing bits of parchment hadn't been burned thoroughly enough, because it was sitting in front of him. _Heart of mine,_ Hamid reads through the paper, and he freezes in his seat. Zolf, who'd put the parchment down on the desk in front of him, asks, "Do you know who wrote this?"

Hamid, who distinctly remembers the feeling of his quill against the paper as he debated which synonyms he should use, doesn't look up at Zolf. Hamid, who distinctly remembers thinking that if anyone else ever read that poem, he would _die,_ doesn't really know how to react to this. Zolf asks, "Hamid?" bringing Hamid back to the present moment.

Not responding isn't an option, apparently. Oh, dear. "Um. Maybe?" Hamid squeaks, and it isn't technically untrue. But if Zolf came to ask him, he probably already knows it was Hamid. Hamid sighs. "Yes, I do," he mumbles, praying to any and all gods that Zolf doesn't ask _who_. Zolf nods to himself. Hamid sees this out of the corner of his eye because he doesn't _dare_ to turn and look. It might actually cause him to die of embarrassment.

"Whoever it was," Zolf says, and Hamid stifles a slightly hysterical laugh. _Whoever it was,_ like it isn't the most obvious thing in the world. Who else would write something like this? Zolf isn't looking at him; he's looking at his own hands. "sure does like similes." 

(He's twisting his ring around and around and around in a way that Hamid recognises as a nervous tic. He did the same thing during his trial and down in Kew Dungeon. What does _Zolf_ have to be nervous about?) 

"Yep." Hamid agrees, unsure of anything else he could say.

Zolf clears his throat. "And. Y'know," he takes a deep breath in before continuing, "they sure do like _me,_ too." Hamid doesn't know what to say to that. _Yes,_ he thinks, _they certainly do._ But Hamid isn't brave or stupid enough to say that out loud, so he nods blankly. 

The silence that follows lasts for _days_ , and Hamid stubbornly ignores his anxious heart beating ever faster. Zolf begins several different sentences but doesn't bother to end any of them. The (incredibly uncomfortable) silence stretches on a bit longer before Zolf blurts, "You should probably tell them they don't have a shot."

Hamid's anxious heart slows and then sinks, and he continues staring at his poem. "Yes." He says, almost reflexively. Then, louder, "Yes, I a— _they_. Most likely. Assumed so." He knew this would happen. Really, what other outcomes could there have been? It still stings. He forces a smile to his face and prays it doesn't look hurt.

Zolf turns to look at him, eyes wide with (concern? Nerves? Apology?) _something_ and says, "Oh, I— uh. Just, it's. Because I already," he gestures vaguely at the poem and goes on, "have? A, uh. _Thing_ for." His eyes don't leave Hamid's. He looks embarrassed, but Hamid can see the affection in his eyes and it _pains_ him. Zolf mumbles, "Someone." and one corner of his mouth pulls up in a cautiously fond smile.

Hamid nods, ignoring the _useless_ tears welling up in his eyes. He's not going to _cry_ because his crush fancies someone else. This isn't primary school, and Hamid isn't some little first year. So he says, "I'm sure she'd be lucky to have you." as sincerely as he can manage (which probably sounds like passive-aggressive sarcasm, at this point) and prays that's enough to get Zolf to go away. 

Zolf's quarter-smile drops. "Wh— oh," He groans. Hamid must have sounded too sarcastic, or too annoyed, or too _something_. Zolf hangs his head and frowns at the floor. "Damn it, Hamid," he grumbles, sounding as if Hamid has disappointed him on purpose.

And Hamid doesn't mean to yell, he really doesn't, but. Look. He was mortally embarrassed and then rejected within the same five minutes, he might as well speak his mind. He stands up from the chair and throws up his hands and demands, "What do you want me to _say,_ Zolf?"

Zolf snaps, "I don't know! Something that'd make this easier for me!" 

Hamid scoffs. He takes a step towards him and repeats, _"Easier?"_ in a dangerous tone. Zolf winces, and Hamid takes yet another step closer. He seethes, "Look, I'm sorry if this is _inconvenient_ for you, but you can't expect me to know what to do, here!"

Zolf stammers, "That's not what I—" he grips Hamid's shoulder as if to stop him from leaving— "Just—" he falters. Hamid glares up at him defiantly, fiercely ignoring the way his heart rate picks up from how close the other man is. Zolf stares at him for a moment, lost for words but looking apologetic. Then he sighs, defeated and exasperated, before murmuring, "Oh, fuck it." and using his other hand to grab Hamid's collar, he drags Hamid up as he leans down and—

oh. _Oh._ That's— Hamid registers that he should probably kiss Zolf back, but. He's going to need a second to process this before he can do anything except stand where he is, dumbfounded. Zolf pulls back, and Hamid blinks at him. At a pitch he's not proud of, Hamid squeaks, "Um?" because that's as far as he's processed the current situation.

Zolf drops his collar. "Shit. Sorry, I didn't mean to— I wasn't thinking." He takes a step back just as Hamid's brain catches up. 

(Most of his brain. Usually, he'd talk things through, clear up any misunderstandings, explain precisely what he wants to happen, and then compromise on what's actually going to happen. But usually, his impulse control is at least somewhat functional. Currently, none of the necessary cogs are turning; Hamid makes this next decision very hastily.)

He closes the distance Zolf just created, stands up on his tiptoes, puts his arms around Zolf's neck, and pulls him in for another kiss. And _wow,_ Hamid has wanted to do that for a _while._ After a moment, he pulls away and drops back onto his heels. Zolf stares at him. "Uh," he says intelligently, and Hamid laughs awkwardly. "I'm. Guessing you didn't mind, then?"

Hamid looks down because if he looks at Zolf, he'll turn as red as his tie. "That was a very stupid way to end an argument," he mumbles in lieu of an answer. 

Zolf laughs and knocks their foreheads together gently. "Yeah, it was. Sorry. Won't do it again." Hamid feels a grin spreading across his face on its own volition, and decides to let it stay there.

Very quietly, Hamid confides, "I thought you were trying to tell me you weren't interested." Zolf takes a hand off of Hamid's waist to rub awkwardly at the back of his neck. 

He smiles self-consciously and says, "Yeah, I guess I could've been a bit clearer." Hamid scoffs.

The smile still fixed on his face, he teases, "You told me that you, and I quote, 'already had a thing for someone'! Yes, you could have been clearer!" 

Zolf sputters for half a second before declaring, "I looked right at you! I looked _right_ at you when I said 'someone'. I was _obviously_ talking about you."

Hamid rolls his eyes. "Generally," he says, locking eyes with Zolf to prove his point, "you look at someone when you're speaking with them. How was I supposed to know _that_ eye contact was special?" Zolf opens his mouth to defend himself, before giving up and accepting the fact that Hamid is right. (At least, that's what Hamid picks up from his body language.) 

Zolf brings a hand up to cup Hamid's face, and murmurs, "Shut up," as he draws him in for a third kiss.

Hamid meets him halfway.

**Author's Note:**

> Was that ending cliche as fuck? Yes. Was the pacing fucking weird? You betcha. When does this story take place? Fuck if I know. Is it out of character? Fucking probably. DO I give a fuck? Yes, very much so, but I refuse to fix any errors bc I am, how you say, A Contrarian Little Blood Goblin. Check me out on Tumblr @roswyrm. Also, check out @hinotorihime who inspired me to write this self-indulgent fluff because she wouldn't _stop_ being _mean_.  
>  PS: I got a cavity from writing this oh my god.  
> PPS: Whenever someone swears in these fics, it's always Zolf. Telling.  
> PPPS: I have kissed three (3) people in my whole life, I don't know how kissing works.  
> PPPPS: I may not have kissed anyone, but I _did_ ask my very short friend to put his arms around my neck so I could figure out how anatomy would work in that last bit. I was wearing Heelys at the time. He was vaguely in the middle of a semi-serious performance. His performance partner/my best friend (who knew what I was writing and understood why I had him do this) was right there. It was uncomfortable for everyone involved.  
>  PPPPPS: The working title for this fic was _George Salazar: A Self-Indulgent Lesson On Why One Should Always Properly Dispose of Love Letters (And Never Ask Friends for Title Ideas)_ and no, I'm not kidding.


End file.
